


I Leaned on The Wall and the Wall Leaned Away

by dreamofhorses



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Barebacking, Consensual Somnophilia, Dirty Talk, Drunk Sex, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, The Author Regrets Nothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-13 05:09:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16886217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamofhorses/pseuds/dreamofhorses
Summary: Birthday porn! Only two months late!Please note that some of what occurs here is after people are drunk and/or passed out. It's within an established relationship, and no one minds once everyone figures out what's up, but there's a gray area there on purpose for a bit. If this is something that might bother you, you may want to move on.The title comes from "Slow Show" by the National.





	I Leaned on The Wall and the Wall Leaned Away

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Petitbleu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Petitbleu/gifts).



“Timmy, you’re drunk.”

That’s how it all started. That’s how it’s started before; Timmy’s 22, and he likes to have fun, and Armie’s not going to hold that against him. But when he starts to get sloppy, almost drops a drink, stumbles into someone on the way to the bathroom, Armie’s had enough. Which is a shame, really, because the party’s fun, the first since summer started, doors open to patios and porches and people shoving frosty drinks into Armie’s hands. But when Timmy weaves his way across the room to Armie, worrying one lip between his teeth, trying to wink but just blinking repeatedly, and shoves his hand under the waistband of Armie’s pants, Armie has the Uber app open before he even removes Timmy’s hand.

“Come, on, kid, we’re going home.” Armie’s voice is superficially playful but stern underneath and his eyes are steel. Timmy sways on his feet, trying and failing to gauge how far Armie can be pushed.

“Why? ‘M I embarrassing you?” Timmy whispers against Armie’s neck, and against his will he feels goosebumps rising.

“Home. Now.” Armie tries to keep his voice from shaking at the command and is relieved when his phone buzzes that their car is outside. As soon as they climb into the backseat Timmy rests a hand on Armie’s knee, and as they start moving toward Westwood Timmy’s hand climbs. Armie patiently removes it, places Timmy’s hand on the seat between them, but Timmy places it right back on Armie’s thigh, and at a red light stares Armie full in the face and cups Armie’s growing erection in his palm. Timmy licks his lips, aims for a seductive expression, and he might not even be too drunk to succeed at it. He laces his fingers through Timmy’s and firmly moves their hands to neutral ground on the seat. “Behave,” Armie hisses softly.

Timmy sways a little, even though the car isn’t moving. “Make me.”

Armie decides he will.

 

They’re barely through the door when Timmy’s on him, around him, long limbs wrapping Armie in so many places he almost doesn’t get the door closed before their mouths meet, and most nights Armie would give in to the cherubic softness of Timmy’s kisses, but not tonight. Tonight he pulls back, denies Timmy access, and when Timmy scrabbles at him, pawing and whining “Arrrmiieee” softly under his breath, Armie cups Timmy’s jaw in his hand, pushing back gently at first. When Timmy still struggles against him Armie pulls his hand away and slaps lightly at Timmy’s cheek with the tips of his fingers. 

It shocks Timmy, that’s for sure, and for a moment Armie worries that he’s gone too far. Timmy straightens up a little, sways once on his feet and is still. Then a spark kindles behind his eyes, the first flash of fire in the forest.

“Do that again.”

So Armie does.

This time it’s harder, with the full flat of his hand, and Timmy steps back a little, almost stumbles, and Armie just watches to see if he’ll catch himself. When he’s caught his balance Armie asks, low and steady, “Are you going to behave now?”

Timmy shifts his weight, glances from side to side without looking at Armie. “M-maybe,” he mutters petulantly. Armie cups Timmy’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, forces Timmy to look up. Timmy’s eyes flick to Armie’s other hand and he seems to be suppressing a smile. Armie pulls his other hand back as if to hit Timmy again and he feels Timmy’s chin bob in his hand as he nods. Armie releases Timmy’s chin and slaps Timmy’s cheek full strength. It knocks his gaze down and sideways and Timmy bites his lip so hard Armie thinks he might have drawn blood. But there’s no chance to tell before Timmy’s on him again, breathing into Armie’s mouth, and the heady taste of vodka and weed and just plain  _ Timmy _ makes any coppery undertones impossible to find.

“Eh, eh,” Armie murmurs, disentangling Timmy from him. “You’re going to behave, remember?” he asks, leading Timmy into the living room. The movement and distraction calm Timmy, but as soon as they're in the middle of the room he grows antsy, fidgets, and Armie has to ask, “Do you need another reminder?” Timmy shakes his head this time, lowers his gaze, and Armie rewards him by stroking his hair softly. “There you go, baby,” he croons under his breath. “So well behaved now.” Timmy presses into Armie's touch, turns his head so his cheek chases Armie's palm. “But I haven't forgotten that you weren't so good just a little while ago, and it seems like I need to remind you of your place.”

Armie settles back onto the couch, Timmy chasing after him, pushing into his lap. “M-m-m, not yet,” Armie murmurs, a hand on each side of Timmy’s waist, bracketed by Timmy’s legs. “We’re going to do what you say, but be very careful how you say it. Maybe this way you’ll be more thoughtful in the future.”

“Rrrmie,” Timmy whines, “‘m not in school, I don’t need lessons. Just want you to kiss me.”

It’s Armie’s first chance to show Timmy what he means. He leans forward and places a single chaste kiss on Timmy’s forearm. “There you go. Now you’ve got what you asked for.”

“Not fair.” Timmy sticks out his lower lip in a pout but his brow furrows with focus. “Really kiss me. Wanna taste you.”

This time Armie tips his head up, catches Timmy’s mouth in a kiss, slips his tongue inside, circles Timmy’s tongue with his own, and then pulls away. “You should be able to taste me from that.”

“More.” Timmy crosses his arms over his chest.

“That’s not very specific, Tim. More of what?” Armie reaches to cup Timmy’s jaw, pats it gently to recall his earlier slaps. “More of this?”

“More of you.” Timmy’s hands lower to Armie’s chest, wrapping behind his back, seeking the skin beneath his shirt, using contact as currency.

“You’ve gotta tell me how, Tim.” Armie leans back into the couch, places his hands primly on the cushions.

This time it’s Timmy who chases a kiss, pressing his lips to Armie’s, licking insistently into his mouth. He pulls away, rubs his jaw against the stubble on Armie’s cheek,  _ hard _ . Tomorrow Timmy’s cheek will have a telltale flush from Armie’s beard, and as much as he’s trying to keep control of the situation Armie feels himself getting hard at the thought.

Timmy feels it too. His lips are against Armie’s ear already when he says, “I want you to get me out of these clothes, I don’t care how, and I don’t care if I can ever wear them again, and then I want you inside me.”

The first part comes easily enough, Armie wrapping his arms around Timmy's waist, sliding them up, carrying his shirt with them, and when Timmy's head pops free he shakes his curls from side to side. Armie takes a bit more time with Timmy's pants, hooking his pinky finger inside the waistband and rubbing the back side of the button and zipper until Timmy starts to grind against even this touch. Then he makes quick work of the zipper, Timmy planting his hands on the back of the couch and shimmying until the pants are at his ankles and kicking them aside.  _ Of course he's not wearing underwear _ , Armie thinks as Timmy slides back into his lap, cock dragging down Armie's chest until it rests in the hollow beneath Armie's navel. 

“Inside you?” Armie asks, cupping Timmy's smooth ass in his hands, one finger creeping playfully toward Timmy's entrance. Timmy whines at the sensation, nuzzles his head into Armie's shoulder for a moment, and then tumbles gracelessly to one side, a long leg thrown onto the back of the couch, kneading his lower lip with his teeth. 

“Please?” he hisses in a whisper so low Armie thinks he might have imagined it. 

Armie runs a hand along Timmy's leg, letting the downy hair tickle his palm, chuckling at how he can almost close his hand around Timmy's calf. Timmy pulls his other leg to his chest, lets his eyes fall closed. “Fuck, Armie, please,” he exhales. With a mischievous smile Armie lowers his head and presses his mouth firmly to Timmy's entrance, feeling the ring of muscle flutter against his lips with Timmy's excitement. 

Timmy whines, something high and nonverbal, as Armie's tongue circles his hole, pushing just inside, pulsing in and out, then pulling away completely and teasing Timmy's rim with his finger. Timmy's next exhale ends with a whine. “Want  _ you _ .”

“My tongue is part of me, baby, that's what you're getting.” Since Timmy's eyes are closed Armie lets his devious grin play out fully on his face as he teases Timmy's hole, circling it with his finger, pushing the pad of his finger in and withdrawing. 

“Arrmiiiee,” Timmy gasps, and his eyes snap open too soon for Armie to hide his grin. “You know what I want.”

“But I want you to tell me. Otherwise how will you learn to be more  _ careful _ , hmmm?” At the end of his question Armie swiftly moves his other hand to Timmy's cock, grips it tightly and feels Timmy's heartbeat in his hand. Timmy yelps at the surprise. 

“I--” Timmy sucks in a breath, sharp as a lie. “I want your cock. I want to feel your heartbeat inside me. I want you to fuck me till I feel it behind my eyes and I see stars. I--”

“Fuck. Yes. OK, Tim,” Armie growls. Even when he’s trying to teach Timmy a lesson, his self-restraint has limits. “Give me a minute,” and he inclines his head toward the bedroom.

Drawer. Open. Lube. Close. Armie can’t remember when he’s moved this fast in his life.

Regardless, when he gets to the living room again Timmy’s just as Armie left him, legs splayed, one on his chest and one on the back of the couch, and the fucker is  _ snoring _ . Sure, it’s a soft Timmy snore, with a melodic lift at the end, but he’s still  _ passed the fuck out _ .

That doesn’t mean Armie can’t still teach him a lesson.

Slowly, quietly, Armie snicks the lube open, spreads it on his first two fingers. Timmy’s still open for him, exactly the way Armie needs him, so he blows on his fingers a couple of times and then slides his middle finger in first, no warning, no questions. Timmy shifts on the couch, bucks up into Armie’s hand, mumbles something under his breath that Armie can’t hear.

When Armie adds another finger he fully expects Timmy to wake up, but he doesn’t. Or at least he doesn’t appear to, even when Armie spreads his fingers apart, even when he brushes his finger against the core of nerves that’s as deep into Timmy as he can reach. That makes Timmy moan, wriggle, suck in a breath, but his eyes stay closed, and when Armie removes his hand completely Timmy goes limp and his breaths even out again.

By this time Armie’s so hard it’s almost painful. He coats his other hand in lube, grabs himself roughly, strokes twice, but he’s trying to postpone the inevitable. His own hand is a poor substitute for the feeling of Timmy around him, warm and safe and  _ everywhere _ . He lines his slicked cock up against Timmy’s hole, nudging gently to see if Timmy will finally admit to being awake. When he gets no response he drives in, slowly but firmly, and as he bottoms out and feels Timmy’s soft flawless skin against his own Timmy’s eyes finally open.

So he hasn’t been faking. He’s really been asleep, or passed out, or at least too gone to know what’s going on, but he knows now. Timmy’s green eyes flash, first in confusion at the sensation. Then he sees Armie above him and his gaze flicks to the joint between them, where skin is meeting skin, where Armie can feel his own heartbeat but also feel Timmy’s, from inside, as the two rhythms find each other.

“Mmmm, yeah,” is all Timmy says, and his eyes are closed again but this time his hips are moving, matching Armie’s tempo, and every time Armie goes to pull his cock away Timmy chases it until finally their rhythms find each other, and Armie grabs Timmy’s cock in his lube-slick hand, and Timmy dissolves against him almost immediately, thrusting once into his hand and starting to tremble. When Timmy comes against his stomach Armie grabs Timmy’s hand, interlacing their fingers, touching Timmy with a hand that had been inside him only moments earlier. And it pushes Armie over the edge as he shudders into Timmy, crying Timmy’s name only once under his breath, and quietly, before taking a series of gasping breaths that bring him down to earth at last.

When he pulls away he whispers to Timmy, “I’ll bring a towel,” and makes as if to roll off the couch. But a hand stops him. A surprisingly firm hand that closes around his wrist, pulls him closer, pulls him down until Armie’s behind Timmy, spooning him clumsily in the half-dawning light from the windows.

“Leave it.” Timmy’s voice is suddenly clear as he tells Armie exactly what  _ he _ wants. “I wanna feel you inside me in the morning when you fuck me again.”

 

And Armie does as he’s told.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm dreamofhorses42 on tumblr, come say hi!


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